Sourwolves 'R Us
by Frisk15
Summary: It's been a crazy day for Five-Oh, so Danny decides a little humor might be appropriate. It's just not the type of humor everybody appreciates. / I don't know where this came from, so please don't hold it against me. I'm as much a victim as those who decide to read this. / No werewolves were harmed during the creation of this story. Just maybe some egos.
The sun is setting, signaling the end of a day filled with angry criminals and unforseen events, as well as several improvisations which backfired at least once and resulted in Chin having to stay overnight at the hospital.

Steve is hunkered down on the beach, arms stretched out over his knees, a dark frown on his face as he contemplates the events of the day. The last dying light of the sun reflects off his eyes, causing the green-blue hue to look as if there's a fire burning behind them. He briefly looks up as Danny plops down next to him, sighing as he stretches out in the sand.

"Thought I'd find you here. Super SEALs always do their grouching in private, right?"

Sighing, Steve turns back to stare at the ocean where the sun has now dipped below the horizon. In less than half an hour, it will be completely dark.

"I'm not 'grouching' as you so eloquently put it."

A soft snort sounds next to him.

"Well, excuse _me_ all to hell and back, partner. It sure _looks_ like grouching from where I'm sitting."

The remark doesn't even deserve an answer, and Steve continues to mutely stare ahead of him until Danny slaps a hand on his arm.

"Hey, lighten up, Sourwolf."

Steve jerks his head up, frowning.

" _What_ did you just call me?"

"Sourwolf."

"What the ... Danny, why in _God's_ name would you compare me to a _wolf_?!"

Danny utters one of those high pitched giggles which signal he's maybe a little nervous and maybe even a lot more outside of his comfort zone. His mouth; his _frigging_ mouth. It gets him in trouble sometimes. Well, no, not sometimes. Basically _all_ the time. Just like...

"Which would make me Stiles."

And with that Danny launches into full scale laughter, rocking back on his haunches. His hair flops over his eyes as he continues to sound out belly laughs, holding on to his knees. Steve watches in silent amazement as his partner, face scrunched up and tomato red, slowly topples over into the sand, still holding his knees; still howling with laughter. He sighs.

"Sometimes you really scare me, Danny."

Danny opens one eye to peer at Steve, who's looking at him with a frown between his eyes.

"Yeah, but you know ... usually people are more afraid of Sourwolf."

And that sends him off into a new fit of laughter. Steve shakes his head as he watches him flop all over the sand, feet kicking in merriment at his own joke. A joke which has just zoomed over Steve's head, because he doesn't get it. At _all_.

"You know, Danny, I'm glad you're having so much fun and all, but excuse me if I don't understand even in the _slightest_ what the _hell_ you're talking about!"

Danny snifs a couple of times, wiping his eyes. There's sand in his hair, sand in his shirt ... usually that will freak him out, but he's enjoying himself too much at Steve's expense. Steve, who's now looking at him as if he's convinced his partner has completely lost it. Danny snorts, then pulls a straight face. An effort somewhat deminished by another giggle escaping his mouth.

"Yeah, OK. See, Grace has discovered this TV series which has been running for a while called Teen Wolf. She's forcing me to watch it too, unfortunately. Anyway, it's about this kid who goes to the woods one night and discovers a body. And then, you know. Gets bitten by a werewolf."

Steve looks at him, then lifts an eyebrow.

"Werewolf?"

The twinkle in Danny's eyes flares up again.

"There wolf, there castle."

And Danny's off again, howling with laughter. Steve gets the reference this time, having watched Young Frankenstein too many times with the team not to recognize the quote. It's just. He shakes his head. Apparently he's not the only one who's still a bundle of nerves after today's job, and this must be one of Danny's ways to let off some steam. At Steve's expense, but hey. It's not like he doesn't reciprocate that gesture from time to time. He leans down and offers Danny a hand.

"All right, partner. I think it's time we just went home and relaxed. Before you give yourself an aneurism."

He gets up, then yanks Danny up out of the sand, using one hand to steady him and the other to brush off the sand from his shirt and pants. Danny swats at the hand patting his behind.

"Hey, _hey_! Personal space, caveman!"

Steve sighs, shakes his head and starts walking towards his truck, parked right next to the beach. He throws a look over his shoulder to check if his partner is coming.

"Hurry up, Danny, or I'm drinking those Longboards by myself. And you know, it being almost dark and all, you never know what lurks in the shadows."

He curls his hands into claws.

"There might even be _werewolves_!"

And cackling at his own joke, he turns and continues towards the truck. Danny trudges after him, still slapping sand off his pants, mumbling while he follows Steve, managing to catch up with him just as he gets into the truck.

"Funny. Werewolves. It's just a frigging story, Steven. It was just a _joke_!"

* * *

As the truck peels out of its parking space, it's followed by a pair of eyes, glowing eerily red in the now nearly complete darkness. A soft but menacing growl sounds, almost immediately followed by what sounds like a surprised yip.

"Ouch! Stiles, what the..."

Two amber eyes stare from over the top of a large container of soda and ice, meeting the green ones from which the red has now completely faded. Derek swallows as the full pink lips release the straw with an almost pornographic *pop*, followed by a delighted sigh.

"Right, OK. That smack? That's for the growling and the eye flashing thing. And what even _was_ that, dude? I mean, we've been here for less than 48 hours, and I'd _really_ like to enjoy some everybody-leaves-Stiles-the-hell-alone time before the proverbial supernatural shit hits the fan, you know?"

A low grumbling starts in Derek's chest, and Stiles holds up a warning finger.

"I _mean_ it, Derek. Please don't start any crap. I'm pretty certain crap will find us soon enough, if what Lydia told us is true. So, anyways. Why was that? That grumbling and eye flashing shit?"

Stiles suddenly smirks.

"Wait, was it because the _bad man_ used my favourite pet name for you? Is the widdle grumpy Sourwolf puppy _mad_ about that?"

Derek snarls and turns, full length teeth snapping closed less than an inch of the finger waving at him.

"Holy ... hey _stop_ that! That's not ... that's not even _close_ to being funny, Hale!"

There's a decidedly amused twist to Derek's lips as he takes in Stiles' shocked expression, then watches him as he dumps the container in a bin and stuffs both his hands in his pockets. He turns back to look at the beach, then sighs.

"So come on, Derek, out with it. What got you so upset that you had to let your alter ego out?"

Derek turns back, an annoyed look on his face, then decides it's not worth lecturing Stiles again about the fact that his wolf is not an alter ego. The boy knows it. He's just riling him up. Derek sighs, then shrugs.

"I guess it's stupid, but it just pisses me off how people always manage to make the whole werewolf thing look like a joke."

He turns to look at Stiles, who's watching him with a non-plussed expression on his face; an expression which is quickly replaced by a smirk.

"Oh come on, Derek. Really? Would you rather that there was a notice at the beginning of that show stating "based on true events"? Maybe something added like "no actual werewolves were harmed in the making of the show"? I mean, what do you want? You either keep it a secret and people continue to believe it's all a myth, and make fun of it sometimes. Or you come out and blow the whole thing open, and. Yeah, well. I don't think that would be a good idea."

Derek looks at him, then nods. Stiles definitely has a point.

"Anyway, good. Now that we have that out of the way, and seeing - hah! _joke!_ \- that I can't see shit in this darkness, why don't you be a good widdle puppy and lead the way back to the hotel."

A low growl sounds, followed by another yip.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Stiles! I swear, if you hit me _one_ more time I'll..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know; the whole throat and teeth and ripping routine, I get it. Don't you think it's time you changed that tune, Sourwolf?"

Derek grumbles, then grabs Stiles' arm and starts dragging him along.

"Hey, ease up there! Fragile _human_ here, remember?"

A huff sounds, followed by a snort and a short giggle.

"What _now_ , Stiles." Derek sounds exasperated.

"He did have a point, you know. That guy. When he called the other dude 'Sourwolf'. I mean, you two do have things in common. Angry eyebrows, frowns that go on and on, obviously both socially and emotionally incapacita ... _hey!_ "

Derek's abrupt stop almost causes Stiles to trip over his own feet before he manages to come to a complete halt.

"Stiles, just ... just shut up, OK? Just. _Stop_."

The two of them continue on towards the hotel in silence, but it isn't long before Stiles' voice starts up again. The sound of talking, interrupted by an occasional huff, giggle, and even another growl, followed by a yip and then an outraged yell, echoes through the street long after the two figures have disappeared into the darkness.

Then, finally, the night becomes quiet.


End file.
